


But We Are Not Men

by Asukachan07



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode rewrite: s07e03, F/F, F/M, POV Daenerys Targaryen, POV Sansa Stark, Political Alliances, Political Sansa Stark, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Some Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Girl Power Is Strong In This One, Valar Morghulis, Verbal Sparring, dansa, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asukachan07/pseuds/Asukachan07
Summary: Tyrion "invites" Jon to Dragonstone, but Sansa volunteers to go in his stead and negotiate an alliance to fight the Night King's army.
Relationships: Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	But We Are Not Men

"Winter is here, Your Grace," the fierce young Lady Mormont reminds Jon as she stands up to her full but diminutive height, another one to convince Jon to stay. "We need the King in the North in the North."

Sounds of agreement resonate in the Great Hall, but Sansa can tell that Jon has already made up his mind to go to Dragonstone. After a moment he speaks up to remind the lords and ladies that they're the one who crowned him and that he's only accepted the title because the North is his home and that he has to fight for it against all odds.

Sansa understands Jon's motivation, of course she does. He's seen and fought these dreadful creatures whereas none of them South of the Wall have. But right now, Jon's plans for the future of the North don't go further than the end of this looming war against the Night King. He's only thinking about survival, but survival isn't the end goal. After a war, a kingdom must rebuild itself, strive for long-lasting peace and prosperity.

And there can be no peace between the North and whoever sits on the Iron Throne. Whether it's a Lannister queen or a Targaryen queen, she has no right to ask House Stark to kneel. At least now that winter is here Cersei is unlikely to send her army so far away from the capital to face the combined armies of the North and the Vale. But the Mad King's daughter?

No, not the Mad King's daughter: Aegon the First reborn as a woman. That Daenerys Stormborn has a vast army and three dragons. Sansa remembers her lessons, she knows that history is likely to repeat itself if Jon stupidly trusts that this Targaryen conqueror will settle for being an ally.

This is a trap, and Sansa will die before she lets one more member of her family die. Rickon's statue in the crypts isn't even completed. She's not losing Jon too!

"I know it's a risk," Jon himself acknowledges her earlier statement. "But I have to take it."

Sansa shoots up to her feet.

"Then send an emissary," she offers the solution that he should've already come to himself. "Don't go yourself."

"Daenerys is a queen," Jon argues. "Only a king can convince her to help us." 

**Says who?** Sansa wants to shout at her brother with simplistic views of politics.

But she doesn't shout. He got angry at her for 'undermining' his rule a fortnight ago. But is she supposed to stay quiet when he makes unilateral decisions even though she's the one who won the North back for their house? Thanks to watching Baelish in the Eyrie and thanks to what she remembers from Cersei's vague instructions, she's the one who knows how to run a castle and a kingdom, and whatever knowledge she lacks she learns from Maester Wolkan. Meanwhile, Jon spends his days supervising or even helping with repairs and training, but this isn't Castle Black, his leadership experience from the Night's Watch helps but it's not enough. He's a king, he needs advisors, and not just that landed knight who knows nothing about the North and very little about a court. Ser Davos is a former smuggler! He advised Stannis Baratheon, yes, and where's Stannis now?

Jon admitted that Sansa is the reason why they got Winterfell back, but he never acknowledged that she was right about Ramsay playing mind games with him, or that she was right about taking the time to gather more troops. The storm that swept the North a few days after the battle wasn't even that bad. Only Ser Davos and the knights of the Vale were impressed. The Free Folk called it 'flurries!' 

But Jon is still trusting that man, a stranger really, over Sansa, over his own sister. She doesn't claim to know everything, but she knows that she would've advised Jon to keep the red witch with them. Lady Melisandre can bring people back from the dead, he knows that, he's alive thanks to her! And who knows what else she can do! She could've been useful in their fight against the Night King, and Jon could've sentenced her to death after the war against the White Walkers. But now that they have no ally with magical abilities they find themselves dreading this war, and seeking alliances with sure enemies! Jon couldn't trust a woman who earned him the reputation of a god, but he wants to trust a Targaryen who wants to conquer them all?

Sansa wants to scream. What is the point of getting their home back if it's just for Jon to go die in the South and leave her to send the Northern army and the knights of the Vale against an enemy she knows nothing about? He's the only one who can lead them to victory!

"You're abandoning your people," she tries to appeal to his sense of duty one more time, and a quick glance around shows that she's speaking for all here.

Jon will see reason, or he'll lose his crown. Northerners aren't sheep like in the South. They won't follow him if he keeps doing everything that's against what the North stands for.

"You're abandoning your home," she adds, managing to reign in her emotion.

 **You're abandoning me,** she doesn't say. 

It's not worth trying to appeal to a familial love that isn't there. He said he forgave her for being an awful sister all these years, but she knows that he didn't. He doesn't care for her, not the way she knows that he would care for Arya or Bran. Not the way he cared for Rickon to the point of rushing to a battle he was sure to lose. With Sansa he's doing everything out of duty for their father. Or rather, out of fear for his ghost. But not out of love for her.

Sansa's fine, really she is. At least Jon fought for her. Robb didn't spare a thought for her or Arya when he was fighting the Lannisters...but he had a wife with child, why should he have cared?

 **Focus, you idiot,** she thinks to herself just in time to hear Jon's reply.

"I'm leaving them both in good hands."

What?

"Whose?" She demands to know, because he hasn't talked to her about naming council members that will rule in his stead or anything of the likes.

Who is he trusting with the duties of his newly earned crown?

"Yours," he answers simply.

Sansa freezes. She freezes, because surely something's wrong here. She must have heard Jon wrong. He doesn't tell her anything, but he wants her to rule in his stead? And do what that she's not already doing?

"You are my sister," he states unnecessarily. "You're the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours."

Sansa can't stop her eyes from straying towards Baelish, whose face betrays almost nothing. Almost. But she knows that he's rejoicing inside because this is exactly what he wants.

He knew what a monster Ramsay was, he had to know, and he bet on Sansa rebelling against being a prisoner in her own home. Before taking her to Winterfell he'd told her to stop being a bystander and she followed that advice to the letter, without even thinking. That's why he was so conveniently available to provide her the Vale's military support against the Boltons.

That's why Sansa didn't want his help in the first place. Anything but be his pawn again...

But because of Jon's stubbornness and his blind trust in Ser Davos Seaworth, she had to invite Littlefinger in her home! A man who's sat at the table of several enemies of House Stark has been granted guest rights. And now Jon thinks it's a good idea to leave the North whilst that scheming man is still in Winterfell? The man who wants her to be queen, and him king?

So when Sansa's eyes meet her king brother's and he nods to her as if he expects nothing but meek obedience, she can't help it: she chuckles, earning raised eyebrows from him, a worried frown from Brienne, and curious eyes from the rest of the audience.

"I am the only Stark in Winterfell," she repeats Jon's own words. "But the North is mine...only until you return?"

Jon's eyes widen and she laughs some more, bringing her gloved hands to her head so she can massage her temples, not caring for the whispers that start spreading in the room because they're only adding to the migraine that this nonsense has wrought in her head!

"Lady Stark makes a good point," Lord Glover says, his eyes bright with whatever idea he thinks is clever, before he then looks down at Jon. "Why should we follow you, why should we let you, a bastard, rule us when—"

"Speak out of turn to my brother your king, Lord Glover..." Sansa cuts him off while signaling to Brienne.

The lady knight dutifully stands to her impressive height, hand on the pommel of Oathkeeper.

"...and you will be the first to help me remind everyone gathered here," Sansa continues then pauses to let everyone catch up to what's happening, "how House Stark has dealt with mutineers for thousands of years."

"Sansa," Jon foolishly comes to the rescue of his own insubordinate subject, who then stops taking her threat seriously.

She barely contains a groan of frustration.

"You are the king in the North, Jon," Sansa is forced to spell things out to him in front of everyone since it's the only way she can get him to listen, "but I am the eldest true born child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark née Tully. Through my noble parents I have ties to the Riverlands and the Vale. That is why my cousin Robin lent us his help; why Lord Royce himself, a good friend of our father, led the knights of the Vale to help us reclaim Winterfell and restore honor and justice to the North..."

She punctuates her words with an extended hand towards Lord Royce and a slow nod that he returns after standing a little taller.

"...whilst our own bannermen wouldn't answer our call!" She adds when she shifts her gaze to Lord Glover, who lowers his head down along with other northern lords keep.

"And yes, I am your sister," she acknowledges. "That makes me royalty too, thus I can negotiate with a queen. Because I'm a woman, Daenerys Targaryen is more likely to treat me with kindness than she would treat you, man whose title undermines her claim. And if her invitation is indeed a trap and she starts making demands..."

She can't help her need to pause in order to take a quick centering breath and swallow down the lump climbing her throat. She detects Lady Mormont's look of concern and can feel Baelish screaming at her with the shift of his stance, but she keeps going.

"...at least I can seal an alliance without sacrificing the North's independence."

"What are you talking about?" Jon has the terrible idea to further showcase his incompetence as a ruler.

"She was once married to the Imp," Lord Royce is the one who volunteers to enlighten those who forgot or never knew of her humiliation. "He is the Lord Hand to this Dragon Queen...the strongest alliances are sealed with marriage."

"Sansa," Jon gasps and walks back to her.

Because he can only acknowledge her when the little virtue she has left is threatened.

Sansa fiercely hopes that Arya and Bran are still alive somewhere, and that they'll return soon. Because Sansa knows that she herself isn't reason enough to keep Jon fighting. After all the fighting he complained about at Castle Black, and after already dying once, he likely doesn't care much about what happens to him anymore. But if the siblings he loves were to return, he'd stay alive and protect them with everything he's got. There is no doubt about it.

"I would never ask you to do that!" Jon promises in a voice that fails to be quiet, and he doesn't notice the people who are already nodding their approval at Sansa's proposition. "You don't have to sacrifice—"

"The North is my home, same as you," she declares much more quietly, not hiding the resentment and outrage from her eyes as she looks down at him. "There's more than one way to fight for it."

Then she speaks for all to hear.

"You are needed here, Your Grace, to prepare us for the war. I have survived in the South for years when I was a girl with no one to protect me."

She nods to Lady Brienne.

"This time I will leave with the strongest shield I could ask for," she states in anticipation of either Jon's concern to her safety. He no doubts was about to make another empty promise to protect her.

How can he protect her when he means to leave her behind? Winterfell isn't her home without her family in it. She knows that because she lived here for a year amongst strangers. Amongst enemies. It was no better than in King's Landing, in fact it was worse. She might as well leave the North again. At least that way she won't have to entertain all these cowardly lords who renewed their allegiance to House Stark only when it was safe to do so, and then decided to give her birthright to Jon.

It's not because Sansa is a woman, she knows, for women who prove themselves are given the same respect as men in the North. No, it's because of her looks, and the way she talks, and the fact that she spent many years in the South in the midst of her house's enemies. As if she had any choice in the matter. 

Jon is baseborn, but he served at the Wall built by Brandon the Builder. He sounds Northerner through and through and has the Stark looks: dark of hair and eyes, unlike Robb who'd taken his lady mother's Tully eyes.

Sansa quickly discards the fleeting thought that Catelyn Stark was right to fear that Jon would usurp her trueborn children's birthrights. Jon isn't Ramsay, he didn't usurp anything. He didn't claim the crown of the North, it was given to him by Northerners and he would've been a greater fool than he already is for refusing it.

But he needs to wear that crown and take his title seriously. He's not just the commander of a sorry army at the edge of the realm. He is in the realm now, full of people with motivations he must learn if he wishes to avoid the blades of traitors. 

"Aye, this beast of a woman is sure to scare the Imp away!" Someone jests in the crowd, and most occupants in the room seize this opportunity to lighten up the atmosphere as Jon keeps staring at Sansa.

She doesn't have time for this staring contest. She needs to pack her things. She should not only find dresses suitable for the windy weather of Dragonstone, but make sure to find hair pins in order to wear southern hairstyles. Those will take a while to do on her own.

"Do I have your leave to act as your emissary in Dragonstone, Your Grace?" She asks Jon for propriety's sake and tilts her head towards Baelish without breaking eye contact with her brother. "Lord Baelish knows Lord Tyrion even better than me. They both served on Joffrey Lannister's small council. If this is a trap, he'll know right away."

Either Jon understands that Littlefinger is vulnerable without the knights of the Vale sworn to his good son, or he catches Baelish's less than subtle look at Lady Brienne. Whatever convinces Jon that getting the Mockingbird out of their home is a great idea, he nods slowly.

"Thank you, Sansa," he even says loudly enough for all to hear. "I have faith that you'll return successful from this diplomatic mission."

Does he? At times she believes that he thinks her stupid. 

"I'll do my best," she promises with a fake smile.

**********

"Sansa!"

She freezes with her hand still in Lady Brienne's after she's stepped off the boat, and stares with wide eyes at Theon pausing halfway through his brisk walk towards her.

He couldn't have mistaken her for anyone else despite her hood hiding her hair and face. He remembers very well the people who rescued them both from Ramsay's men and hounds.

Uncaring for the disapproving looks leveled by the Northerners whom Jon sent along with her to mine the dragonglass, Sansa hastily lifts the skirts of her dress so she can run towards Theon, whose arms readily wrap around her when they collide almost painfully. She does not even care for her hair when her cowl slips down her back.

She's been so worried about Theon. Receiving no raven from him after so many moons since their paths diverged in the Wolfswood made her fear the worst.

"What are you even doing here?" She questions him when she steps away but holds his hands at arm's length. "You're on the wrong side of the continent!"

"My sister allied herself to Daenerys Targaryen," he readily answers, though not without a wary look at Baelish, whose face is the only one left hidden by his cape. "Against Cersei Lannister, who has the support of our uncle Euron. He wants to usurp Yara's crown."

"Her crown?" Sansa echoes as she sees movement behind her pseudo family member. "Your sister is queen?"

She quickly banishes the foolish thought that she should've been named queen afterall. No, there's nothing to envy these other women. They can lead in battle, she can't do anything but play the Game and only when she feels safe enough to have her wits about her.

Nevertheless, this is good news. If there's a precedent of the dragon queen allowing a great house to reclaim its kingdom, then—

"Queen of the Iron Islands," Lord Tyrion shouts from a dozen paces away as he approaches with two men in armors that cannot possibly protect them from the strong and fairly cold winds.

At the same time as Sansa identifies them as the famed Unsullied, she realizes that the strong winds in question carried her words to her former husband's ears. She will have to mind that if she ever needs to communicate privately with Lady Brienne or even Littlefinger.

"Which in terms of land surface are but an insignificant constituent of the Seven Kingdoms," Lord Tyrion adds as he stands level with Theon and gives Sansa a look she's uncomfortable yet proud to earn.

 **Mayhaps he'll believe that my name and beauty remain all the powers I have,** she hopes inwardly, then wonders somberly, **mayhaps they truly are all that I have?**

She doesn't remove her hands from Theon's when her former husband frown at them, and isn't surprised when his voice turns slightly sharper when he resumes:

"An off-shoot of the ancient kingdom of the Rivers and Isles. House Targaryen gave House Tully, the great house of your late mother, the honor to rule the continental part of that ancient kingdom. I shared my educated guess with Queen Daenerys that you've come instead of your brother not only because you're certainly a more adept diplomat than him, but also because you can grant Her Grace the fealty of not one but two kingdoms all at once...unlike Jon Snow who's nothing but a lucky bastard."

"According to your own wording, my lord, you are the bastard," Sansa states evenly.

In her eyes Jon hasn't been a "bastard," a person of sinful birth and sinful nature, since she learned that he was still alive. Even before she arrived to Castle Black, she had thought him a Stark. Family. What did it matter what the world say about illegitimate children of lords? Sansa's honorable father had raised Jon the same way he'd raised his trueborn sons. That's enough for Sansa. It should've been enough for her all along, the way it was for her trueborn siblings. But as a girl, she had intentionally chosen to side with her mother, and had unintentionally turned cruel to her kind half-brother: a boy who grew up to be better than most noblemen. He's not like those who act solely for their own interests; who exploit and abuse others as their pawns whilst they play the game of thrones. They're the bastards.

"A lucky one, yes," the dwarf agrees with a smirk and an ostentatious brush of his fingers over his Hand pin.

"You were indeed lucky to escape your trial, Lord Tyrion," Littlefinger speaks up as he reveals his identity with ridiculous flare. "Whether the luck that allowed you to flee to Essos returned with you in Westeros is yet to be confirmed."

"Lord Baelish," Lord Tyrion greets, his shock showing before he can hide it behind a mask of diplomacy. "Are you here to bend the knee as well? I did send you a letter, but I assumed that you were colluding with my sister when you didn't answer it."

"I didn't answer it because I was not in the Eyrie to do so," the acting lord paramount replies before looking around. "And where are those dragons your queen claims to have?"

As if they could've heard him, three winged beasts soar in the sky from the other side of the island, their screeching sounds making Lord Baelish and the miners wince in fear. Meanwhile, Podrick looks merely fascinated and Lady Brienne keeps her stoic stance by Sansa's shoulder.

And Sansa herself? She's petrified. Only her hands shake in terror, and only Theon can tell because they're still holding hands.

"She's a good woman," he attempts to reassure her. "She freed slaves in Essos from masters who treated them like objects. They call her Mhysa. It means 'mother,' because she's caring for them like no ruler has before and—"

"How can she rule them from across the Narrow Sea?" Sansa inquires as she withdraws her hands and pulls her cowl back overhead, not for a moment taking her eyes away from those creatures.

That's how she spots a silhouette dwarfed by the largest dragon.

It is, coincidentally or not, mostly black but with red scaling down its spine, visible from where they stand at the beach because that thing is terrifyingly large. There is no doubt that it's Daenerys Targaryen who just slid off the dragon to walk inside the castle from the grassy landing adapted for those beasts.

"Her Grace left a trusted advisor to keep the peace while she reclaims her birthright," Lord Tyrion answers before extending a hand in invitation to follow him.

 **And that trusted advisor isn't you,** Sansa concludes. **She spent her life in Essos but even she knows not to trust Lannisters.**

Because, for all that he was kind to her, Sansa knows that Lord Tyrion only treated her kindly because she was a defenseless and stupid little girl. And yet he was the only Lannister aware that she was smart enough to hide her deep hatred for all members of his house. So he truly he must suspect that she's an even better liar now. She does not have much of an advantage after all...unless he didn't bother to warn his dragon queen about her skills as an actress.

Sansa frowns when only she and Theon make it past the Unsullied guards, who cross their spears in front of everyone else.

"What is the meaning of this, Lord Tyrion?" Lady Brienne asks before Sansa herself can.

"I trust that you can appreciate Her Grace's caution," he answers with a smirk. "Weapons may only be carried by the people she trusts. Unarm yourself," he orders before staring knowingly at Baelish, "and refrain from any attempt to poison any of us here, and she will trust you too. No need to rush, my short legs will assure that you will catch up in no time."

Sansa nods at her shield twice before following her former husband at indeed a very slow pace towards the long-winding stairs leading up to the balcony connected to that landing.

"I was relieved to learn that you returned home after escaping my sister's wrath," he tells her with a smile that she hears rather than see. "For a time I wished you'd taken me with you, but of course I doubt that Lord Baelish would've extended his kindness to me."

"I would've begged for his mercy, my lord," Sansa says, her words truthful, "to take the people I cared about along with me."

Then she'd thought that Margaery would be safe for she was the queen. She'd been wrong, and it's only because of her grief for Rickon that she hasn't shed a tear for one of her only two friends in King's Landing. The other one was Shae. She was only a servant, but she taught Sansa about being a woman in a world of men. She taught her much more than Cersei ever did.

"The people you cared about," Lord Tyrion echoes, his tone pensive. "You were young and naive, my lady, so I understand that you couldn't imagine that even those who were kind to you did not truly care about you."

Sansa pauses on one step to stare at the dwarf. His disfigured face doesn't give much away, but it gives enough for her to know that he's not talking about Margaery. In hindsight Sansa recognizes that her friendship wasn't unconditional, but a friendship it was and the Tyrells never meant Lord Tyrion any harm. In any case, there is no way that Lord Tyrion would misidentify who Sansa was referring to.

"Shae," she speaks her name in a shaky whisper.

Of course she suspects that her faithful handmaiden perished, likely by Cersei's order. But the spark of guilt that flashes in Lord Tyrion's eyes...

"What happened to her?" She now wants to know all the details. "She was your...lover."

Sansa realized it moons after leaving King's Landing, whilst revisiting the best memories of her time in captivity was her only escape from Baelish's presence. Her happy childhood memories had been too painful to revisit still. So she'd think of Margaery and Shae for hours.

"She was not who you thought she was," Lord Tyrion tells her, no, he argues. "She fooled you, my lady. She fooled even me."

"What...happened...to her?" Sansa repeats, the cold winds helping her keep her eyes dry.

He does not answer, but his silence is answer enough. Yet she cannot show how she feels about the discovery that even the kindest Lannister isn't worth one piece of the gold they own. She cannot make him more of an enemy than he already is by serving a Targaryen. And thus she uses a truth to perfectly mask a lie.

"Jon is king because my trueborn brother Rickon was betrayed by one of our own bannermen," she informs the dwarf and shakes her head when he opens his mouth to offer empty words of sympathy. "I'm not telling you that because I want your pity, my lord. I'm telling you that to convey that I understand. I wish I could've killed that bannerman myself."

"Killing is not that easy, my lady," he of course condescends her with what he assumes are words of wisdom. "And you are much too kind to be a killer like the rest of us."

"My second husband would disagree," she deadpans as Lady Brienne and the rest of her retinue joins them.

She doesn't bother studying her first husband's reaction to the implication of her own words of wisdom.

* * *

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.” Missandei’s clear and melodious voice introduce Daenerys to her guests.

The queen is momentarily distracted by the tallest woman she has ever seen. She's dressed in an elegant armor under her opened cloak, and for a moment Daenerys envies her. A lady knight. A woman with her own strength, who can physically protect herself from men.

 **I have my children,** she reminds herself, recovering her calm. **And my faithful Unsullied, as well as my blood riders. I don't need to dirty my own hands.**

"If it pleases Your Grace," a man whose identity Daenerys cannot guess at all speaks up after a brief bow, "I am Petyr Baelish, acting Lord Paramount of the Vale for my good son Lord Robin Arryn of the Eyrie."

Daenerys manages not to glare at the back of Lord Tyrion's head. He claimed that the man known as Littlefinger had sided with the usurper queen when it is clear that his lack of answer was due to the fact that he'd left the Eyrie in a hurry to swear fealty to his true queen!

"And it is my honor to introduce you to Princess Sansa Stark of Winterfell..." the man's next words freeze Daenerys, leave her cold with fury.

How dares she style herself a princess, a royal, when Daenerys is the only surviving member of the royal house of Westeros? Ellaria Sand was a bastard with no relation to House Martell. Her bastard daughter Tyene was Prince Oberyn Martell's daughter...but Theon Greyjoy informed Daenerys that they're dead along with the other Sand Snakes. The terrible news clouded her mind with thoughts of burning everything standing in her path to the Iron Throne, so she went for a ride in literal clouds to clear her head.

"...sister and current heir to the king in the North," Lord Baelish's next statement revives her desire to burn all of her opponents, yet she keep her regal stance on her temporary throne of stone, "daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark née Tully; and closest cousin to Lord Robin Arryn."

Even without the tension that has gradually settled in Lord Tyrion's shoulders, Daenerys knows what this mockingbird passing for a falcon is telling her: if anyone should be queen of Westeros, it is the woman with blood ties to not one, not too, but three great houses. Lady Olenna left quite swiftly for one her age, claiming that she was needed to boost her troops' morale in the Reach, but Daenerys is no fool: Varys told her that House Tyrell once coveted Sansa Stark exactly because of her precious name and blood...and her supposed beauty?

"Your Grace," the woman finally speaks up, and the dragon queen admits that her voice is pleasant.

She almost gasps when the lady lowers her hood to reveal herself. Yes, a lady, not a princess. She isn't true royalty, but—

Her hair is the color of fire and blood, styled intricately in a style not much different from Daenerys' own. And she is dressed in black under her black cloak, why? Why is she wearing house Targaryen's colors? The Stark colors are white and grey...maybe Sansa Stark believes that her name, porcelain skin and icy blue eyes are enough to convey her identity as a Northerner.

"I thank you for your invitation," the redhead says—she is quite tall as well, Daenerys realizes—before she slowly, carefully, elegantly lowers down in a curtsy then seamlessly stands back up.

The dragon queen wishes that this woman would stay on the ground where she belongs: beneath her. On the ground, where she will be shorter than Daenerys who would then be able to grab her head and inspect her face carefully.

Yes, Sansa Stark is quite beautiful, but surely she cannot be so sweet...still? After all that Lord Tyrion and even Varys claim she went through? How did she keep her innocence?

 **She's not innocent,** Daenerys corrects herself. **She was married twice, and there is no doubt that her second husband took his rights. He took more than he was due, isn't that why she rebelled against him? But then her bastard brother was crowned king instead of her. She must resent that.**

"My brother, the king in the North," the words are said with carefully masked bitterness, but Daenerys can hear it of course.

Viserys was born a prince, but he was a bastard in his behavior. Daenerys loved him all the same. She tried to be a good sister to him, and he proved himself unworthy of that love over and over again. She had no choice but to let him go. He'd threaten her unborn child.

"...could not come himself for he is preparing our people for a war against the terrors beyond the Wall," Sansa Stark explains her presence, and this time Daenerys moves to meet Lord Tyrion's gaze.

The red priestess was banished South by Jon Snow, but he doesn't know that she's here in Dragonstone. The only way for the two of them to separately tell the same tale to Daenerys is that—

"It is true, then? There's a terrible enemy threatening all of us?" She asks as she stands from her stone throne, and as she slowly makes her way down the steps, she witnesses something that she's never seen from an enemy:

Sansa Stark, who realizes that she's much taller than the queen honoring her with a peaceful welcome when her house has usurped one of the Seven Kingdoms, makes herself smaller. The bend of her knees is more subtle than the downward tilt of her chin, but Daenerys does not miss it.

 **She knows her place,** the dragon queen realizes with a strange mix of satisfaction and pity. **That's why her brother has so easily usurped her title as Wardeness of the North and crowned himself king. She doesn't want any of this. She's not made for this hard world.**

"It is, Your Grace," the lady confirms with a shy nod when Daenerys stops on a step that keeps her slightly taller. 

**No, she's not a lady,** the dragon queen deliberates. **She is a princess, a tragic princess, just like I once was. Poor thing. She is taller but younger, less experienced.**

"I-I, if it pleases Your Grace," the princess says more quietly with a stutter that does not take away from her charms. "We've come to make a humble request all the way from Winterfell..."

Oh. Where are Daenerys' manners?

"Of course, you must be tired from your travels," she states magnanimously, scanning the small crowd as she clasps her hands to stop herself from grabbing Sansa Stark's head and lifting her chin, which has gone even lower now.

 **Don't underestimate yourself,** she wishes to tell her. **Everyone here already does. You are stronger than you are. You are second only to me in this room, and you should act accordingly!**

"I apologize, Princess Sansa," she tests the title and the name and finds them tolerable, especially when she hears the redhead gasp with surprise. "I didn't make proper arrangements for you. I have a room for a lord or a lady, which must go to Lord Baelish, of course. Will you sit with me whilst I have your own chambers readied?"

The queen ignores how her Hand tries to catch her attention because the tall lady knight steps closer and oh my, she is more imposing from up close.

"It's alright, Lady Brienne," Sansa Stark meekly orders her guard to keep her distance, though the way she clasps her hands together betrays...worry? Fear? "We are...we are Queen Daenerys' guests, no harm shall come to any of us...Your Grace?"

Daenerys blinks, then remembers that this poor girl's other brother king, Robb Stark, was killed at a wedding after receiving guest rights. Ah, that's what Tyrion meant to remind her. They need to break bread and what not. Make sure that they value the old and sacred tradition and will respect it, unlike the Lannisters, the Freys, or the Boltons whom Sansa Stark had to live with.

 **If I'm not careful I'll stupidly make her fear me,** Daenerys realizes. **She's already lived with Cersei, a queen who reigns through fear. A queen she hates like the rest of us. She cannot hate me too or I'll lose my claim to the North. They only follow the Starks, though now they follow a bastard. Because the only surviving trueborn Stark is no warrior, no schemer. Just a dutiful sister.**

"Of course," she speaks loudly enough before clapping her hand once, and a moment later servants fill the room to offer not just bread but fruit to her guests.

The delight that sparks in Sansa Stark's eyes when a plate is held between her and Daenerys confirms what the queen of Dragons Bay suspected: Westeros is hungry. Not just for justice and peace, but for food too. After all these senseless wars the people need to rest and regain strength.

Daenerys sees that all are waiting for her to go first so she nods and slowly reaches towards grapes as she eyes her guests. They all choose a slice of buttered bread, and those who look like smallfolk chew eagerly...

"Oh," Daenerys says at the same time as Sansa Stark and both withdraw their respective hands, which touched because they both reached for the grapes.

"No, go ahead," the host allows as she grabs a slice of bread and takes a quick but small bite so she can swallow it first.

 **See? Nothing to fear,** she thinks what she wishes to tell her guest.

The princess seems to hear her for she gives her a small smile and plucks one grape before taking a small bite too. She doesn't expect its sweet juiciness: she blinks when her teeth breaks the skin, and makes a quiet little noise when sweet water squirts from the plump flesh.

Her cheeks flush as she licks her lips and throws a shy glance at Daenerys, who quickly redirects her guest to the other guests.

She hopes that her own cheeks don't look as warm as her own body feels. Not because of embarrassment, but because she surprisingly feels a sudden attraction to her guest. To a woman.

And what would be wrong about it?

Daario told her, didn't he? That a king wouldn't think twice about taking a lover. But the lords and ladies of Westeros wouldn't accept a sellsword from Essos as their queen's consort thus Daenerys had to leave him behind. But the lords and ladies of Westeros wouldn't frown upon their queen's lover if she were a noblewoman with blood ties to three great houses, would they?

 **Not just a lover,** Daenerys corrects herself, proud for finding a solution to her Northern problem so quickly. **She'll be my princess consort, elevated above all in Westeros. Above even her brother, the Warden in the North. He doesn't deserve his crown.**

She eyes Lord Tyrion, whose pinched lips might or might not stem from jealousy. Has he already figured out her plan?

 **No, he doesn't believe that I can rule without his supposedly good counsel,** she reminds herself before looking back at Sansa Stark, who pauses momentarily while chewing more grapes before placing her fingers in front of her mouth to finish her bite and swallow. **And he cannot imagine that someone without a cock can bed a woman.**

She discreetly inspects the redhead dressed in black. She would blend in with Daenerys' bedsheets perfectly. She truly is a beauty, the king in the North's sister. So sweet, and yet...

 **She's survived so far because she knows everyone's place,** Daenerys understands. **Not just her own, but that of all the other lords and ladies in Westeros. She's been in the great game for much longer than me. Once I make her love me, she'll help me get rid of the man keeping her in the chains of familial duty. She'll choose me, just like Missandei did.**

The queen looks at her herald, who nods back with a small smile. Does she understand? Yes, of course she does. She's no power-hungry man like Lord Tyrion, who will kill his siblings just to sit beside Daenerys' Iron Throne; nor a man like Lord Baelish there who no doubt covets Sansa for himself. Like Sansa herself, Missandei is a bright woman who survived amongst brutal men by using her head. She's sure to have assessed the Northern princess' value.

Theon Greyjoy better make good use of the other half of Daenerys' Unsullied legion. She does not want to lose Yara Greyjoy, her allied queen. Nor Lady Olenna, who is sure to commit to the cause once she learns that the invaluable Sansa Stark has curtsied to swear her fealty to the one true queen. 

**Why did I ever need Tyrion and Varys?** Daenerys wonders, feeling silly for trusting men she barely knows. **So far only the women have given me anything to look forward to. I shouldn't be surprised. After all—**

"Valar morghulis," Daenerys speaks up loudly enough for her Unsullied guards to hear by the doors, and when they instinctively answer "valar dohaeris" along with Missandei, the queen gazes at the people who will kneel to her soon enough.

After she saves them from the darkness, there will be no doubt in their heart that she is exactly who they need to not only survive a war, but to thrive after she wins it for them.

"Sīr ābrar glaesis se udrāzma," she adds as she extends her hand to invite Sansa Stark to follow her.

The Unsullied simply hit their left fists to their chests, Sansa Stark's retinue exchange confused glances, and the translator ignores Lord Tyrion's questioning look as all follow the queen's lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're not fluent in High Valyrian:
> 
> https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoValyrianTranslator


End file.
